Awakening to the Obvious
by Spikesgirl58
Summary: Waverly didn't usually go into 'those' types of bars, but he did and he was surprised at his discovery. Warnings - mild slash, bar mix may contain peanuts , bars, singles and realizations.


_Because sometimes a passing comment just can't be left alone—based upon a comment made by Georgiamagnolia_

It wasn't the sort of place he frequented. In fact, if Alexander Waverly was honest with himself, he would admit to avoiding this type of locale like the plague. It was only the intensity of the storm that drove him inside.

It had been one of those tricky New York spring days, warm and beguiling as a sweet young girl, only to become her over-bearing and evil twin in a matter of seconds. The sun brightened the day, and then storm clouds opened and deluged the city. A few minutes later, the sun was back apologetic and seemingly sincere.

And Alexander Waverly had certainly lived here long enough to be well aware of these days, yet he still couldn't resist that siren call and decided on a brisk walk before settling down for the night. He should have at least considered bringing an umbrella with him…

Instead, the storm had driven him inside, into the darkened recesses of the bar. He'd certainly been inside bars many times in his life, slept on a few of their floors, vomited on many others as a young man, but nothing like this one. This was one of those, he harrumphed to himself, those'other' kinds of bars, where men went to engage men.

Waverly didn't have anything against homosexuality, far from it. He had several very good and cherished friends who described themselves as such; he had agents who were practicing or still closeted. He asked them to do their job and what they did after hours was most certainly none of his business.

It was as if he was being deliberately tested for no sooner had that thought entered and exited his mind, he saw them. In a corner, tucked away from the rest of the bar crowd, were two of his agents. Waverly blinked, rubbed his eyes and looked again.

Solo and Kuryakin were sitting at the small table, seemingly oblivious to the crowd around them, although Waverly knew better. He reckoned that at a moment's notice, they could tell you the description of nearly everyone in that room.

And Waverly found himself taking a step back, keeping well clear of their line of vision. He skirted the room, keeping obstacles between himself and them until he found an empty table, where he could watch them, but they couldn't see him.

But it wasn't as if they had eyes for anyone save each other.

"What can I get you, sir?" The waiter slipped a napkin down and placed a bowl of bar mix beside it.

"I'm sorry?" Waverly flushed and then nearly stammered, realizing his near mistake. "Ah, bourbon please; best make it a double, young man."

"Absolutely." He headed back to the bar, weaving among the tables. The bar was nearly full, mostly with couples… same sex couples, Waverly corrected. His eyes went back to his agents and then he nearly laughed.

"Of course," he said softly. They, like him, had been driven in by the storm and were just biding their time, having a drink and some conversation.

Why, Napoleon Solo was no more gay than he… and he nearly gasped as the very same said Napoleon Solo leaned forward to kiss Kuryakin. And the Russian didn't try to avoid it. No, he mirrored the move, catching Solo's head with one hand and holding him in place as their lips met.

A glass being set down in front of him startled Waverly away from the sight and back to his own world. The waiter grinned and nodded.

"They're great together, aren't they?"

"I don't understand."

"Mr. S and the blond. We don't know his name, but he just started coming in with Mr. S a few weeks ago. They make a nice couple, don't you think?"

"Not really," Waverly snapped and then he smiled. "I'm sorry to appear rude, I was just a little taken aback."

"By?"

"Finding **those** two together."

"And I hear the bartender calling my name…" The young man retreated a step and hurried away.

Waverly sipped his bourbon, surprised that it wasn't watered down, and glanced back towards the pair. They were still kissing and as much as Waverly didn't want to watch, he couldn't tear his eyes from them.

He'd known of Mr. Solo's proclivities towards sex of any nature. The man simply enjoyed sex and his ease around women made jelly of most of the young women Waverly had working for him. Napoleon happily obliged, and romanced his way through many relationships both in and out of his working environs. And Waverly now remembered that Solo's interest didn't stop at women, although he never seemed to pursue that course actively. Waverly himself had sent Solo in on more than one mission that required some rather unusual talents and the man had performed his duty admirably without question or complaint, just as Waverly expected of the young agent.

The Russian, he'd been a risk and one that Waverly had enjoyed taking. The man was a boon to the organization with his knowledge and skills. And Waverly had found himself liking the young man very much, if not entirely understanding him. He'd liked and trusted him enough to send him into the arms of his young cousin, Alice. When Alice had reported that Kuryakin had behaved the gentleman, Waverly had thought it was his Old World manners and approach to dating.

He risked another look. Solo was holding Kuryakin's face now, cupping it as he did nothing short of plunder the other man's mouth, and Waverly still couldn't look away, not as embarrassed by the action as he was at not giving these two the mere respect of privacy. He'd not openly watch a man and woman kiss like that, so why couldn't he pull his eyes from his agents? He wasn't voyeuristic by nature and yet he was fascinated by them.

His impulse to pair the two had been just that, an impulse. He'd learned to trust his instincts long ago and he knew these two were meant for each other, perhaps not in the current fashion as much as in a working relationship. The chemistry between them was apparent from the first. And Solo spoke Russian, which helped ease the way for his new agent. Kuryakin had had a handful proving both his loyalty and respect for the organization. Even now, a year later, there were still whispers behind his back when something unexpected happened. People were quick to blame Kuryakin for bad luck, reluctant to congratulate him for successful missions.

And there were successful missions. Waverly himself was a little dumbfounded at how these two operated. Solo had climbed the Section Two ladder fairly rapidly. With his new partner, Solo was on fire. Kuryakin gave him an added boost of intellect and bulldog determination. Together it seemed that nothing could stop them.

They'd separated by the time he'd finished this thought and returned to their drinks, their free hands touching each other's, as if afraid to be out of physical contact. Waverly took another swallow of his bourbon and considered his options.

He'd certainly not witnessed any untoward behavior between them at headquarters, nor had he heard complaints from any of his fellow Section Ones. Well, there was the occasional complaint of why Waverly got to keep them and they didn't, but that was not Waverly's problem. There were rumors, but those seemed to dog most of his successful teams and he attributed them to jealousy, misinterpretation, or both.

Break them up? Waverly couldn't see the wisdom in that. They worked well together; they achieved a high level of success and carried out UNCLE's wishes to the fullest extent. He couldn't openly admit to or condone the physical relationship, for that would open the two up to even more fire. Already Kuryakin had been targeted as a lure for Solo. Fierce loyalty was one thing; known to be in a relationship, committed or otherwise, and THRUSH would stop at nothing to snatch one or the other and use them against UNCLE. But how to show them he was all right with this and not tip his hand too amateurishly?

****

Illya half hid his yawn behind a bruised hand while Napoleon went through the routine of checking them in. Right now, the only thing he wanted was a hot shower, some sack time and… his lips curled at the thought of what he really wanted at the moment.

However, he let the thought pass unvoiced in the crowded lobby. Instead he picked up his suitcase and quietly followed his partner to the elevator to their room. The corridor leading to it was long and uninteresting. Solo unlocked the door and Illya stepped through to flick on the lights.

"Another single?" he muttered, dropping his case near the entrance. "Waverly and his cost cutting measures! If I thought him the devious sort, I'd swear he was trying to tell us something."

Napoleon caught him and enveloped his partner in his arms, taking the kiss he'd been longing for for the past hour. Illya's mouth opened to his and they stopped there, lost in their own world of sensation and tranquility. Illya's hands dropped, using Solo's belt to pull them closer together.

Napoleon's fingers were already unbuttoning Illya's shirt as he worked his mouth down the square jaw and up to a blond fringed ear. "Single room, a later flight, some private downtime - somehow, I think he already has."


End file.
